Bruised
by Butterfly Bandage
Summary: Archie comes into work battered and bruised, and claims he fell down the stairs. But when a body appears with injuries consistent to his, was it an accident… or a hit? Chapter fic.
1. Part One

**A/N:** The sad, sad truth that is the influence of this fanfiction will probably make you people laugh. But… basically, my twelve pound kitten headbutted me in the forehead. I'm not kidding. Through a series of strange and extremely unfortunate circumstances involving eight plastic bags and a closet, Elliott tripped me and sent me toppling, tore around the house at ninety miles an hour in an effort to get the bags off, and ran smack dab into my head in his crazed frenzy while I was trying to get back up. And I'm dead serious when I say he left a bruise, and no one believed my cat did it. I spent the next thirty minutes watching CSI with an icepack on my forehead, begging for a _Thunder Geniuses _trailer (and didn't get one… damnit) and… well, I came up with this. So, yeah. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** …I'm going on a covert mission to steal the rights to the CSI series from Anthony E. Zuiker. Anyone wanna come?

**Summary:** Archie comes into work battered and bruised, and claims he fell down the stairs. But when a body appears with injuries consistent to his, was it an accident… or a hit?

**.:X:.  
bruised  
.:X:.**

Nick Stokes was in a good mood.

A really good mood. In fact, if the lab had a radio, the station would've been playing that song about walking on sunshine.

He'd just come from the Tox lab, where the lab technician Henry Andrews had just reassured him that the brand of cocaine on his blunt-force trauma victim was solely made by his prime suspect, while the DNA analyst Wendy Simms had just informed him that the epithelials were a match to the same suspect. As if that weren't enough, David Hodges, the Trace analyst, had told him the trace on the dead man's hands were a match to the eyeglasses the _same _suspect wore.

Talk about your easy case.

Now all that was left was to check up on the audio/visual evidence he'd left with the lab's A/V Archie Johnson.

Archie was typing away as usual, but Nick stopped dead in his tracks, halfway through the door. There was a large bruise running down the left side of the A/V tech's face, a bandage around his right wrist, and he sat very stiffly in his chair, as though slouching hurt. He was also favoring his bandaged wrist, using the left hand much more. At the sound of the footsteps, he looked up and raised his eyebrows in greeting. "Oh, hey Nick. I just got that footage from your case done, if you want it now."

"Nevermind that. What happened to you?" Nick asked, startled.

Archie grinned in what Nick assumed was a sheepish manner. "I, uh… I fell down the stairs. Tripped over my cat, actually."

"You fell down the stairs."

"Yeah."

"When?"

"I dunno, couple days ago. Why?"

Nick shook his head. "Nothing. Nevermind." He grabbed the chair next to Archie and wheeled it around, sitting down and placing the file he'd been holding on the desk.

"You know, that casino had really crappy equipment, they need to call that little business down in Summerland, Trinity something or other… I know the owner, Mike. His stuff's a _lot _better than anything those big businesses spit out every year…"

There was something about the bruise on Archie's cheek that was bugging him. It didn't look like the kind of bruise a person got toppling down the stairs, or even just falling, for that matter. Nick stared at the tech for a long moment, his brown eyes very serious. "Don't move," he said suddenly, and made a fist with his right hand. He held it up carefully to Archie's face and mentally noted as Archie instinctively recoiled. _People who fall down the stairs don't flinch when you go to touch them, _he thought.

"That's odd," he said dryly, pressing his knuckles against the bruise and ignoring the tech's hiss of pain. "Looks kinda like a fist impression. You sure you tripped?" Archie's eyes widened minutely, but he stared back at Nick, his face unreadable.

"Yup."

"Huh." Nick lowered his hand and there was a long pause.

"You want the analysis, then?" Archie said, looking back to the screen. His hands shook as he typed a few commands on the keyboard. There were bruises on the knuckles of his right hand too.

"I guess I do."

"Okay, so, your perp walked into the casino at about 10:31—" he pointed with his left hand "—and around 10:34, sat down to play poker at table 27." He laughed in a 'poor guy' way. "Lost all of his chips within fifteen minutes." He typed a few more commands, and pointed again. "Now, here… your perp walks into your vic, they fight, vic wins, and perp marches out in a huff. A few minutes later…" More typing. "Perp follows vic into bathroom, and commits murder." Archie shrugged as he leaned back and sighed. "The guy made it too easy."

Nick raised his eyebrows. "Not bad, Arch. Looks like you pretty much closed the case."

"Thank you, thank you. Flowers aren't necessary. Throw coins, if you will."

"Nice try," Nick said dryly, getting up and patting Archie on the shoulder. "But no dice."

The tech grinned up at him. "I'll get it printed out and everything for the case file."

"Thanks, that'd be great." Nick's cell phone started ringing and he flipped it open. "Hey, Gris. Yeah, I'm done with the Angelis case. Why?" He listened for a moment. "Yeah, alright. Where is she? …'kay. Be there soon." He snapped the cover down and sighed. "I'm literally off this case for thirty seconds and Gris already has me working a new one with Catherine. She was called down, and Warrick and Sara are already working a case…"

"Fun, fun, fun," Archie said brightly.

"Yeah, well, I'm off. Watch out for cats."

"Always."

Nick stored the mystery in the back of his mind. As long as the bruises didn't have anything to do with murder, it wasn't really his business. Whatever.

**.:X:.**

Catherine Willows looked up as Nick came ambling up in full CSI gear. "Weren't you working the Angelis case?" she asked, her strawberry blonde ponytail swinging. Captain Brass was off to the side, interviewing the poor soul that had found the cadaver.

"Case was closed," Nick said cheerfully. "It was too easy. Wendy, Henry and Hodges both found evidence that'll convict the perp for years, and Archie was able to get motive and exact time."

"Well," Catherine said, cocking an eyebrow. "You seem happy for someone standing over a dead body."

"Aren't I always?" the younger CSI said cheekily, crouching down next to her. "Hey, Super Dave. Whadda we have?"

David Phillips, the graveyard shift's assistant coroner, glanced up from his clipboard. "Well, it looks like a single gunshot wound to the back. Rigor's not fully set, and his liver temp's not even close to ambient, so… I'm guessing he died about six to eight hours ago. Lividity's fixed, though." He pushed up his glasses. "He definitely died here."

"Poor guy took a beating," Catherine said, pulling her gloves on.

"I'll say," Nick said. There were bruises all over the man's face and arms. "Any ID?"

"Nope." David shrugged his shoulders. "Mugging gone bad?"

"Probably," Catherine muttered, looking around. She brightened instantly when she spotted a security camera. "Well I'll be damned," she said cheerfully. "Take a look at that, Nicky." She pointed.

Nick looked up and cracked a smile. "Two easy ones in three days? It must be my lucky day…" Yet there was something about the body that he couldn't place. The face wasn't familiar…

Catherine chuckled. "You better hope."

He shrugged as he walked over to the camera and pulled out the tape carefully, handing it to Catherine.

Whatever.

**.:X:.**

"COD was a single gunshot wound to the back. It hit his spine and lodged between the eleventh and twelfth vertebrae. Near instant death," Dr. Al Robbins said, and David pulled the cadaver up enough so that Catherine and Nick could see the hole in the man's back. "I sent it to Bobby already. Looks like a hit." Nick nodded. "What about the bruises? Defensive wounds?"

"Actually," Robbins said, looking up at the CSIs over his glasses. "Yes and no. They _are _defensive wounds, some of them, but those were inflicted around 36 hours ago, consistent with a mob beating." He pointed to the wounds as he said them. "Contusions around his face and chest, two broken ribs, broken hand, a few lacerations… All in the primary stages of healing. Nothing that would kill him."

"Probably would've caused him a _lot_ of pain, though," David commented, writing something on his clipboard as usual.

Nick looked up at the coroners, who seemed to realize they'd said something interesting. Robbins raised his eyebrows. "That mean something to you, Nick?"

"Uh, nothing, Doc." Catherine gave him a weird look, which he ignored. "C'mon, Cath. We've got footage to give to our favorite computer geek," he said, stalking out. Catherine couldn't help it; she looked at the two coroners, who looked shocked. After a moment, she said, "Uh, right. I'd better go see what's bugging the big bad Texan. See you later, Doc, David."

Three minutes later, Catherine tossed the evidence tape at Archie, who still managed to catch it one-handed, again using his left hand. "Careful, Cath," he said, grinning, "I could've missed."

"You never miss," Catherine said, grinning back. She noticed the bruises, but said nothing about them. Hodges had a big mouth; he'd already mentioned that it was no surprise to him someone like Archie would trip over a cat and fall down a flight of stairs. Her sharp eyes told her that was weird, the bruises weren't consistent with a fall, but she ignored it. Muddling in other people's business was her job, but muddling in her co-worker's lives wasn't.

Archie nodded his head. "Can't disagree with you there." He popped the tape into the player as Nick and Catherine plopped down on either side of him. Archie typed in a few keys and the screen produced a grainy, black and white picture of the back of a casino, complete with dumpster, lamp and three-stair doorway.

"Behind the Monte Carlo," Nick said when Archie shot them a questioning look. "We've got a snuff film here."

"Ohh."

The three watched as a man barreled out of the door, looking terrified.

"There's our John Doe," Catherine said, pointing at the screen.

"He looks even worse when he's moving," Nick commented, wincing as the man ran right into a railing and doubled over, clutching at the hand they knew was broken. He looked around frantically, then ran down the stairs. He turned around briefly, to check if anyone was following him, and then he lurched forward and toppled to the ground, blood blossoming from under him. No one ever entered the camera's line of vision, to the CSIs' dismay.

"Well, that's great," Nick said, looking angry. "All we've got is what we already know."

"Archie, zoom in and see if we can get a close-up of our John Doe's face. Maybe we can ID him," Catherine said, tapping her lower lip in thought. When the A/V expert did nothing, she looked sideways at him. "Archie, did you—" she stopped talking, wide-eyed. "Hey, Arch, are you alright?"

All of the color had drained from the tech's face as he stared at the screen. Nick and Catherine exchanged glances, then Catherine reached out and touched Archie's shoulder lightly. He yelped and jumped back, looking startled. Catherine's eyebrows knit together for a second as she took in his frightened expression, and then she said quietly, "You know him?"

Archie swallowed. "Yeah. Uh… he's a… a friend."

"So you know his name."

"Yeah. His name's Ben Davies." Archie paused the video, looking nauseous. "Lives…_lived _somewhere in Summerland. He mentioned it in passing once." He swallowed again. "We went to highschool together…" He smiled, still looking sick. "He was the only guy in our computer club better than me."

Nick and Catherine exchanged looks again, remembering what Robbins and David had said about the wounds on the dead body. They looked awfully similar to the marks on their normally cheerful tech's face and arms. Nick couldn't help but feel pleased that he wasn't the only one who'd noticed that.

"And… when was the last time you saw him?" Catherine asked carefully.

"Dunno." Archie didn't look either of them in the eyes, pressing the play button again.

"Too bad," Nick said wryly. "He could've warned you that your cat was about to trip you, huh?"

"Someone moved the camera," Archie said, pointing to the screen and ignoring Nick. "You could probably get prints off it."

Catherine shot Nick an "I-thought-so" face, which he replied with the "we'll-figure-it-out" face.

After thanking the tech (and advising him to drink something warm—he looked paler than a ghost), the CSIs converged in the break room.

"What do you think?" Catherine asked, taking a sip of coffee.

"He's hiding something," Nick said thoughtfully. "But it doesn't seem that relevant. It's possible there was a mob hit throughout the city and he was one of the poor unfortunate souls that got a taste of it. Arch never mentioned he was with Davies when he got those bruises. He said he tripped over his cat," he added disgustedly.

Catherine shrugged. "We have to tell Grissom."

Nick grabbed a mug too. "Guess we do."

It definitely wasn't 'whatever' anymore.

**.:X:.  
end chapter  
.:X:.**

**A/N:** Why is it, that, every single time I write something, I feel as if it's going to fast, but the people I show it to don't think so? It's confusing.

Reviews are lovely, and the next chapter will be up some time next week. Til then!


	2. Part Two

**A/N: **Okay, so I lied. It's been almost two weeks. I'm sorry, really, but I had this huge English test to study for, and it sucked, plus there are auditions for the musical, and now I'm just ranting.

Thanks for the reviews, everyone. Glad to see people like it so far. (sjwpurple, thanks for the very literal lovely review...) Fall Out Boy's new single 'America's Suitehearts' just came out last week, so… I _might've_ been writing to it on an endless loop. Hope it doesn't show... –sigh- This chapter deals with evidence, but we don't have a viable suspect right now. Let's see how it goes.

**Disclaimer: **I have duct tape, black gloves, and a balaclava. I'm going after this sucker. CSI SHALL BE MINE.

**.:X:.  
bruised  
.:X:.**

_And if either of you two even thinks about goin' to the police, you'll be dead before the words even come outta your mouth. Got it? And no hospitals neither. They record stuff like this. Take care of it yerselves._

**.:X:.  
Chapter Two  
.:X:.**

Gil Grissom wasn't a very intolerable man. Yes, he had this annoying habit of answering rhetorical questions, and on more than one occasion he was often right when it came to these answers. But that didn't mean his team kept things from him on occasion, did it?

Granted, he hadn't been past the A/V lab yet, but with a gigantic mouth like Hodges roaming the aqua halls of the lab, it was rather shocking word hadn't spread to the supervisor's office yet.

Maybe he was giving Hodges too much credit.

"So, you're saying that the injuries your victim sustained," he said calmly, looking at them over the rims of his glasses, "match Archie's, and you _think_ it's connected." Nick and Catherine winced. The words "think," "assume," or "believe" without proper evidence never went well with Grissom.

"Well, it's a theory," Nick said carefully, and Grissom raised his eyebrows. Ack, he was using all the taboo words. "It's possible there was a mob hit throughout the city—"

"And there are more victims out there," Catherine finished, saving Nick from hot water.

"If no one's reported it," Grissom said evenly, "how do you expect to find them?"

Catherine nodded her head thoughtfully. "We may just have to wait until someone checks into a hotel with more consistent injuries." She shrugged.

"That could take weeks," Nick pointed out.

"Even months," Catherine added. "Depended on how terrified these victims are…"

"Nick, what makes you think these cases are all connected?"

Nick bit his lower lip in thought. "I dunno, Gris, it just seems fishy to me. Arch and this guy go to the same high school, then show up with the same injuries?"

"Similar," Catherine corrected. "There were a few inconsistencies."

"Either way," Nick redirected the conversation. "You say it yourself, Grissom. Evidence never lies, there's no such thing as coincidences. I'm going with my gut on this one."

The supervisor nodded. "Work with that to the side, if you will." Then he gave them his best Grissom stare. "But right now, it's time to see what else Mr. Davies has to tell us."

**.:X:.**

"Ow! _Crap_!" Greg Sanders stuck his wild head in the Trace lab where the head analyst was waving his hand and wincing in pain.

"Bad luck all around," Greg said, smirking. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened," David Hodges said, giving Greg the Evil Eye, "this trace Nick and Catherine found on Ben Davies, that's what happened."

"That doesn't answer my question, unless I'm telepathic."

Hodges rolled his eyes and held up a small piece of metal. "It's a sharp little bastard. How's that?"

"That works better." Greg raised an eyebrow. "You cut yourself?"

"'Pricked' would be a better term," Hodges corrected, putting the metal back down. "I'm not bleeding."

"So what kind of metal is it?" Greg asked, walking in, interested.

Hodges gave Greg his best superiority look as he said smugly, "It's not metal, it's plastic. Part of a DVD."

"A _DVD_?"

"Yes, a digital video—"

"I know what a DVD is. It's a rhetorical question." Greg threw Hodges a disgusted look. Hodges, used to being interrupted, picked the plastic up, stuck it in an evidence bag, and handed it to the CSI, saying snippily, "Well, then, I suppose it's time for Nick and Catherine to do their job."

Greg raised an eyebrow again.

Hodges smirked. "Find out why," he said, turning back to his microscope.

**.:X:.**

Goggles on, Bobby Dawson pulled the soundproofed headphones firmly in place over his shaggy, strawberry-blonde hair and picked up a .9 Glock. He shook his head. He loved guns way more than the next guy, but variety every one in a while was great. Then his mind shifted to a particular gun remodeled into a machine gun and he winced.

Um. Regularity was good, actually.

"Firin' one!" he shouted, aiming the Glock into the opening to the water container. The sound was deafening, but—ha, ha—he had on his trusty headphones. The lab techs next to the ballistics lab jumped, as usual. _You'd think they'd be used to it by now,_ he thought, pulling off his equipment.

"Hey, country," Nick came strolling into the Ballistics lab, and Bobby looked up.

"Oh, hey, Nick. Just got your test about five minutes ago. The bullet _was _fired from a revolver. The striations are different obviously, but take a look at this." He pulled his

Bobby sighed as he leaned back. "Well, I'll tell ya'll this: whatever gun shot that bullet was part of an old mob hit fifteen years back." He pointed at the screen. "It was actually _stolen _from the lab during the case. They never found it." The ballistics expert grinned in spite of himself. "Whoever did that had guts, huh?"

Nick blinked a few times, staring at the word on the screen. "It was _stolen?_"

Bobby nodded. "Stolen."

"How does one steal a piece of evidence from a crime lab?"

"Search me." Bobby shrugged as he fished out the bullet out of the water and inspected it carefully. "Warrick and Sara's case," he said when Nick stared at it interestedly. "I had to compare thirteen different bullet fragments." He rolled his eyes.

"That bites, huh," Nick said, grinning. After a moment, a thought entered his head.

"Does Archie own a cat?"

"Yeah," was the distracted response. "Why?"

"No reason." His cell rang suddenly, and he pulled it out. A message flashed:

_Meet me in Grissom's office. You're gonna want to see this. You were right. –Catherine._

He snapped the lid shut.

"Gotta get going, Bobby." He said, and the tech nodded, noticing the look.

"Have fun," he grinned.

**.:X:.**

Hours later, the techs were all converged in the break room.

"Dinner a la Wendy's," Hodges announced, smirking as he stepped in with his hands full of bags. Wendy, passing by, rolled her eyes and flicked his head before chasing Sara down as she walked in the opposite direction. Wincing and shooting her back a death glare, he strolled on into the break room. Mandy, Archie, Henry and Bobby looked up expectedly.

"Whose turn is it next time?" Hodges sidetracked them, holding the bags out of reach as they all tried to grab for them.

"Mine," Mandy said impatiently. "Now hand it over before I bite your wrist off. I'm starving here."

"Ah, ah, you didn't—"

"You tell me to say 'please' and I will harm you."

Hodges handed her the bag without another word.

Archie glanced into the bag the Trace tech had handed him, made a face, and handed the bag right back over to Hodges, who smirked and said, "I'm sorry, did I hand you the chicken sandwich by accident? I did _not_ know you had an aversion to poultry."

Archie gave him the old mocking lip-curl-head-shake as he grabbed the correct bag. "I swear, Hodges, when it's my turn to get take-out, I'm going to get you tuna."

Hodges made a gagging noise. "Good God, no."

Nick poked his head in. "Hey, Arch, I've got a question."

Archie looked up from the bag. "Yeah?"

Nick held up a printed letter, smiling in a way that the techs all feared to see on a CSI. It meant one of two things: "You are in some serious trouble" or "I have _plenty _of work for you, my friend."

It seemed to be the former as Nick said, sounding overly smug, "An e-mail from a Mr. Ben Davies involving a reunion with an old high school pal at the Monte Carlo."

**.:X:.  
end chapter  
.:X:.**

**A/N: **Ever pricked yourself on a broken CD? Those little bastards _are _sharp, I will tell you.

I have no idea where this is going, honestly, but please, bear with me. I try, I really do.

Reviews are, as usual, lovely.


	3. Part Three

**A/N:** Musical auditions, Christmas parties, tests, more parties, improvisations in acting, a new Fall Out Boy CD, an English project, NCIS, a birthday, the twenty-four hour flu (D:) and a cat giving birth can _really _delay a fanfiction update. I apologize for the delay, I really do. So instead of the usual rant, I'm just moving right along here.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. I just own all the novels. Which I'm quite proud of, actually.

**.:X:.  
****Chapter Three  
****.:X:.**

"Um… technically, that wasn't a question?" Archie tried.

"Clever." Nick put the letter back in his pocket. "With me, please. Grissom is not happy."

The other lab techs all watched, eyebrows raised, as Nick waved Archie out of his seat and out into the hall. The latter grimaced in their direction before closing the door.

"Well, Hodges," Bobby said after a minute, unwrapping his hamburger. "Still think he tripped over his cat?"

The Trace analyst frowned. "What could Archie do that would get _Grissom _angry?"

"'Not happy' does _not _always equal 'angry,'" Mandy said, biting a fry. "Though I'm curious too."

"Ben Davies," Henry said interestedly, speaking for the first time as he pulled his bag over. "You know… Doc Robbins sent a blood sample up for a Tox screen a while ago. It came back negative, except for a bit of alcohol."

"Death was a gunshot wound to the back," Bobby added, taking a huge bite of his burger. "Nine millimeter."

"The trace was fibers, a hair, and a broken DVD," Hodges said, also taking a bite of his sandwich. "Doesn't seem like much. Maybe Archie just missed an e-mail when he went through Davies' computer. Crucial evidence, maybe?"

"Nah," Mandy said. "It's more than that." She took a sip of her soda and glowered at Hodges over the rim. "I said Diet."

"Live with it." Hodges sank into his seat thoughtfully as he took another bite of his sandwich. "Huh."

"What?" Henry asked.

Hodges swallowed his mouthful. "Did you guys notice the _way _Nick said what he did?"

"Like Arch had somethin' to do with it," Bobby said. "Yeah. Don't rub your nose where it doesn't belong, Hodges. You'll get in trouble. Again."

Hodges smiled smugly. "Can't be worse than whatever trouble our A/V tech is in."

**.:X:.**

"Hey, Arch. It's Ben. I'm visiting LV for a few weeks for a convention down at the Monte Carlo. We should meet there. It's been a while. Write back." Grissom put the letter down as Archie shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, wincing. "The Monte Carlo was where Ben Davies' body was found."

"I didn't, um, do anything if that's what you're implying."

"I'm not implying that you killed him. Just that you were with him when you both received those injuries."

The sentence hit home, Nick and Catherine could see that, but all the A/V tech did was raise his eyebrows and say, unflinchingly, tonelessly, "I tripped over my cat."

Nick made a face that suggested that, if his boss wasn't present, he would've said something akin to 'cut the crap.'

Grissom didn't take the bait. He pointed. "You're favoring your right hand more than your left."

"I landed on it when I fell."

"Seems more like it was broken to prevent you from protecting yourself."

Archie's performance was pretty good as the corner of his mouth turned up. "Protecting myself from what?"

Grissom was unfazed. "If you tripped, why didn't you go to the hospital? Get your injuries taken care of? Your wrist doesn't look so good. And you're standing in a very odd way. Broken ribs, maybe?"

Archie shrugged. "Didn't think I needed to. It's not broken; it's just sprained, I think. I'm fine, other than that."

He received a look. "If it's not broken, just sprained, you should be able to use it fairly soon."

For the first time the tech looked put off. "How soon?"

Grissom smiled in a way that, had it been anyone else, would've been perceived as triumph. "Why? Does it hurt?"

"Um. No more than it should, I guess."

Nick's phone beeped and he flipped it open.

_DNA on hair strand got a hit. –Wendy_

"We got a hit," he said, slipping it back into his pocket. "You, I will be talking to later." He pushed the door open, Catherine following, and Grissom turned his attention from the departing CSIs to Archie.

"We're going to be talking right now," he said, no hint of a smile on his face.

**.:X:.**

"His name's Ryan Anders," Wendy said, pointing to the monitor. "He's an intern at the local hospital; that's why he's in the system. No prior felonies or anything."

"Huh." Catherine said thoughtfully. "You know, if he knew Davies, that would explain why his wounds were bandaged."

"Yeah," Nick muttered. "But that could've been who Davies was running from, too."

"I'll have Brass bring him in," Catherine said, pulling out her cell phone. "I'll help with the interrogation," she added as Nick yawned. "You take a break."

As only Brass could do, within the next fifteen minutes, Ryan Anders, a tall, thin man in his early thirties with bright red hair and blue eyes, and dressed in navy blue scrubs, was being led in by Brass. He looked exceptionally pale and nervous. Brass walked him into the room, Catherine following, and motioned for him to sit down. Catherine took a particular interest in this suspect.

He was covered in bruises and winced with every step.

"Is there any particular reason _why _you dragged me out of my job to bring me down here? My attending's going to kill me." Despite his obvious anxiety, the man spoke with the air of someone who was irritated, wanted the world to know it, and was going to let the world have it.

"I didn't do anything!" Anders said. "Why do you think I did?"

Brass held up a little evidence bag, in which was a bright red hair.

"What, a hair?" Anders now looked annoyed. "Is it a crime to have red hair now? Well, then, you guys have a lot of people to round up. Celebrities and whatnot. I can name at least three with red hair._ I've_ been in at work all day, I have _no idea _what you—"

"It was found on a dead body," Brass interrupted, and Anders' cobalt eyes went huge. "A d-dead body? What? Are you _out of your mind? _Wh-why would—what—" He seemed suddenly incoherent.

"What's the matter?" Brass said, tilting his head. "Thought you'd committed the perfect crime when you killed Ben Davies?"

"Oh God." Whatever color had been in Anders' face was gone instantly. "Ben's _dead?_"

Catherine folded her arms, watching the emotions flicker through the man's bruised face—pain, shock, and then, most interestedly, fear. Finally she spoke up. "How did you get those bruises, Mr. Anders?"

Anders' eyes narrowed. "Why do you ask?"

"Because Ben had the same bruises, as well as a friend of mine."

Anders shrugged. "I can't help you with that._ I_ got into a fight." He looked the CSI right in the eye, though his words weren't at all sincere as he said carefully, "I_ think_ maybe Ben did too. I dunno about your friend, whoever he is."

"Who did you get in a fight with?" Brass looked irritated.

Anders seemed to be struggling for words. "With a… a drug dealer."

The irritation vanished, replaced by a smug grin. "So now you want to add more to your potential charges?"

"No, no, no! That's not it—he was a—" Anders cut off, looking fearful. "…It was nothing. Can I, uh, can I go?"

"We're not done yet." Brass went back to looking irritated.

"Then I'd like a lawyer. Please."

"I want to know how _your hair _got on a dead body. You don't need a lawyer to tell me that, unless you did something that would require a lawyer."

Anders shrugged. "Ben is—was a good friend. We went to the same highschool. I hadn't seen him in years, so when I saw him, I gave him a hug. You know, one of those one-arm deals? It wasn't anything."

Catherine's phone beeped suddenly, and she pulled it out of her pocket. E-mail.

_DVD signature matches something from the convention Davies was down at day before he died. You have to see it._

Catherine stood up. "Be right back, Jim. I think Archie found something."

Anders looked up at the name, which the homicide captain caught.

"Well," Brass said, seeing an opening, "I thought I heard something, but since he didn't want to tell us anything…"

"Tony DeVini."

They turned around, surprised. Anders looked up at them pleadingly. "Look him up. He was the drug-dealer. But, uh… could you do it carefully? Don't tip him off or anything."

"What else can you tell us about him?" Catherine asked, walking back towards the table.

"He runs a family business, drugs. He doesn't let anyone but family in, says he doesn't trust anyone else." Anders swallowed, looking scared. "I have to go, I have to get out of Vegas before you question him."

"Why?"

"I just… I have to."

"What happened to your attending trying to kill you?" Brass said lightly.

Anders laughed, sounding slightly hysterical. "Dr. Whalen? Trust me; the worst he can do is fire me."

"Let him go for now," Catherine said as she opened the door. "But please don't leave town, Mr. Anders."

The man swallowed but nodded. "Okay."

**.:X:.**

"I thought you should take this case, Jim," someone was saying. "It seems related to yours."

"We can give the graveyard shift the evidence we collected before our ME found the note," a female voice said.

"That'd work," Brass's voice responded. The CSIs rounded the corner to see Brass talking with his dayshift counterpart and two of the dayshift CSIs, both of whom seemed slightly put off.

"Hey, Jim, Conner," Grissom said interestedly to the two policemen. He nodded at the dayshift team. The woman with shimmering ginger hair saluted with two fingers, and the other CSI rolled his eyes.

"What's going on?" Nick asked.

"We have a body you guys might be interested in, Stokes," the male CSI said. Brass turned to the graveyard shift.

"Ryan Anders is dead," he said tonelessly. "Shot in the back. And there was a note." He handed a small slip of paper to Grissom, and Nick and Catherine looked over his shoulder to read it.

_One left. _

**.:X:.  
****end chapter  
****.:X:.**

A/N: Grissom and Archie's convo will be in next chapter, as will what it is Archie found. Oh, and broken ribs = ow. I asked my brother. He said it hurt like a bitch to stand, walk, or sit. And I know it goes fast, but everything will be explained in flashbacks and whatnot.

You know, typing 'Archie' and 'Nick' over and over again has convinced me that I will never name my sons either of those. –slams desk with fist- I shall name my firstborn Hodges. Because Hodges never gets old to type. HodgesHodgesHodges. See? That was fun.

Reviews are lovely.


	4. Part Four

**A/N:** I apologize once again for the delay, but many things as usual have happened. Also, if we could have a moment of silence for my computer Dom. He finally kicked it after seven years of faithful servitude. Just burned out completely, the poor dear. But I've got Ed now, who's a bit less irritable (meaning he won't randomly delete files from my USB drive) so it's all good. So, next chapter. Whee.

Oh yeah, and: WHERE ARE DAVID'S GLASSES?! First it was Danny, now David?! KEEP THE GLASSES, DAMNIT! Being an owner of spectacles, I feel betrayed.

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine. Never going to be mine. I must learn to accept that. Or so says the local shrink. The random side-character plot devices, however, are mine. So now I skip in happiness because I can actually associate something of mine to CSI, however small and un-canon. Also, I will never never EVER write CanonOC, so no worries. Like I said, they're plot devices. I don't really like OCs, and I don't really like writing them into fanfictions, but I do love the ones I use in here, so… yeah. I'm sorry. They're from my own story, and I needed to use them in here to make it work. …big disclaimer.

**.:X:.  
Chapter Four  
.:X:.**

_Approximately forty-five minutes earlier…_

"We're going to be talking right now," Grissom said, no hint of a smile on his face."I'm removing you from this case. Since objectivity usually doesn't apply to lab technicians, you can see how serious this is." He wrote on a piece of paper. "I'll get the dayshift A/V tech to take over for now."

Archie said nothing, but instead seemed interested in a spot on the floor. Grissom contemplated him for a moment, and then took off his glasses.

"You have to tell me what happened."

"I _did_ tell you."

"Archie," Grissom said, his eyebrows rising. "I catch liars for a living. You really think I can't tell when a member of my forensics own team is lying?"

The tech's head was still tilted down, but his eyes flicked up. After a moment, he spoke. "I can't tell you."

"That could be obstruction of justice," the supervisor said, seeing an entrance and taking it as carefully and tactfully as he could. "I don't believe you had anything to do with Ben Davies' death, but anything that can lead him to his killer—"

"No, I mean, _I_ _can't tell you._" He looked pleadingly at his boss, who, after a moment, understood.

"Someone won't_ let_ you tell."

Archie nodded.

Grissom sat back in his chair, for the first time fazed. "That's… very serious, Archie. In what way, if I might ask?"

The tech shook his head, his mouth tightening as though he deeply wanted to say something, but couldn't.

Grissom looked at him for a long moment, and something clicked. "Ben told."

Archie nodded again.

"Okay," Grissom said, putting his glasses back on. "You're not going to leave the building."

"Wait… what? Why? I thought I was off the case—"

"You're going to tell me everything," Grissom said lightly, "and we're going to work it out."

**.:X:.**

Closing the door carefully behind her, leaving Nick and Brass in the room with Anders, Catherine sighed and made her way back to the aqua halls of the lab, weaving through various lab techs and other CSIs. Tucking a strand of strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear, she stepped her way into the A/V lab.

"Hey, Arch, I got your email—" Catherine stopped in her tracks and stared.

Instead of Archie, there was a tall, thin, handsome man wearing a cargo hat pulled over dark, shoulder-length hair. At the sound of Catherine's footsteps, he swiveled in the wheelie chair and turned a light shade of red when he saw her in the doorway, staring at him like he had five arms.

"Where's Archie?" Catherine said, blinking. The man grinned timidly.

"Sorry, I sent you the e-mail from the graveyard shift tech's account; I forgot he was logged in. Natural reaction. You're Catherine Willows, right?"

Catherine nodded her head. "And… you are?"

"Oh. I'm Shawn Taft, the dayshift A/V technician. Your supervisor put me on the case. Objectivity or something." He shrugged. "I didn't really want to come in to work this late, but he sounded serious about it on the phone, and he scares me more than a bout of insomnia."

Catherine shook her head, finding herself almost laughing at the concept. "So you said you had something to show me?"

"Um…" Shawn wheeled himself over to the rack. "It's… uh... huh. I'm not usually on this side of the lab… ah." He plunked an evidence envelope from the top shelf and pushed himself back to the computer backwards, pulling out a shard of plastic as he went. He held it up and showed it to Catherine, who pulled on a latex glove and took it.

"That little fella? Yeah; your tech found a section of the serial number along the edge. I had to redo it over again, chain of evidence, you know…" Catherine nodded, waiting for him to get on with it, just slightly irritated. It probably had something to do with how carefully he was talking. "It took a kind of long time to find where it goes to, but… I think I might've—"

"Shawn," she said, cutting him off, and he cringed. "I don't have an IQ of twelve."

"Sorry," he muttered. "Ecklie doesn't like it when I talk as fast as I usually do."

"Do I look like Ecklie?"

"No ma'am," he responded instantly, recognizing the tone.

"Talk to me like I'm CSI Willows. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry. Uh…" he paused, breathed, and launched into a tirade, his speech fast but perfectly articulate. "The serial number, and the specific signature, matches a popular info-movie out, dealing with selling and rewiring computers. It's called BLANK, because every single one is slightly different, depending on exactly what you want to do with the computer. That didn't make sense to me at first, because the serial numbers are all more or less the same, give or take a few numbers. But then I found out that's actually used primarily so they know how many they've sold, and of course, if you've actually bought it, almost like a proof of purchase on your cereal. It was sold about three or four days ago at a small conference in the Monte Carlo, and I've got a list of both the people that attended as well as well as those that bought BLANK, since you need to register to buy it." He held out two pieces of paper from the printer.

"That," Catherine said, smiling as she took the papers from him, "was much better. Thank you, Shawn."

He smiled a little less timidly this time. "My pleasure. Can I go home now?"

"Not yet," she said. "We may need you again."

"I don't really… _mind_ being here, but isn't one of your CSIs an A/V expert too? One of ours is. He could always take over."

"Warrick's on a case, actually," Catherine replied, handing him the evidence folder with the DVD shard in it.

He took it and sighed. "Well, I suppose I don't need that much sleep anyways."

"We're going to be bringing in a laptop, if we can get the warrant," she said. "It belongs to a Ryan Anders. Brass just released him from interrogation."

Shawn stared at her for a long second, his mouth slightly open, then he lightly tugged one of the papers out of her hand. "This Ryan Anders?" he asked in a surprised tone, pointing to a name on the list. Sure enough, under the list of the people that attended the conference, was the name _Ryan Anders _in bold print. She stared for a long moment.

"Is that bad?" Shawn asked, staring up at the CSI.

"Yes and no," Catherine said slowly. "It's leaning more towards yes." She lowered the paper and sighed. "Our suspect list just shot up." She pointed to the name above _Ryan Anders._

_Ben Davies._

**.:X:.**

_Present Time…_

"Shut _up, _Stokes, and let me just tell you what we found!" the male dayshift snapped, looking irritated.

"I would, if you had everything organized the way you should, Daniels."

Jude Daniels leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his coffee-brown hair, growling in frustration. "I _hate _you graveyard CSIs. You think that the way _you _do it is always _right_."

"That's because everything you dayshift guys always do ends up being _wrong._"

"Look. Just because you have the amazin' Grissom as your supervisor doesn't mean—"

"Oh, shut up," a female voice said, and Catherine and the short ginger-haired woman from earlier strolled into the layout room, seeming much more at ease than the men, who looked about ready to eat each other. The shorter one, Tracey Elliott, was glaring at Jude. "Can't you get along for five minutes without trying to rip heads off?"

He rolled his eyes at her again, pushing up his glasses. She sighed. "New Yorkers."

"Californians," he shot back.

"Okay," she said. "Since Jude clearly cannot control his Y chromosome—"

"I _hate _that expression," he muttered.

"—I'll tell you what we found, Nick." She passed over an evidence log. "Our coroner found contusions, lacerations, and overall wounds similar to your first body, Ben Davies, who turned out to be friends with your A/V tech, right?" Nick nodded ("Objectivity," Jude mumbled under his breath). "Ryan Anders, 32, an intern at the local hospital," Elliott continued, "He turned out to be friends with Davies as well." She shook her head. "Six degrees of separation in the making. Did your tech know him, too?"

Nick thought back for a second to when the tech in question had found out Anders was dead. "…yeah, he did."

"Catherine said that Ryan Anders was also at the conference dealing with computers. Shawn also said that Ben Davies bought this movie called BLANK." She looked over at the older CSI, who nodded. "Brass is going through the list now; he's going to bring in the ones with prior felonies first, and then work his way through those who are clean," Catherine said.

"Which means we've got a problem," Jude said, his face serious. "That conference coulda had at least two dozen people who came from out of state. Any of those tourists coulda killed Davies and Anders, then left town last night."

"No," Nick said. "Don't forget the note. Whoever did this is still in Vegas."

"Very true," Jude muttered.

"So where did you find the note?"

"In his pocket, of all places."

"We thought it was weird," she continued. "What does the note mean by 'one left?' Serial killer? Terrorist threat? We couldn't figure it out. Then Jude remembered an old case one of his co-workers mentioned."

"Back when I was on the New York squad," Jude said, tapping his lower lip, "the forensics team there had a case similar to this. Only it said 'two more will die' and it was written in blood on the body's shirt. It turned out to be a revenge case. Do you think that's what we got here?"

"A revenge case?" Catherine asked. "It could be. I think it's more than that, though. It's probably personal, though. I agree with you on that."

Elliott's phone suddenly beeped, as did Catherine's. Elliott pulled her cell out and pressed a few buttons.

"O'Dell just e-mailed me," she said, staring at the small screen of her Treo and standing up slowly. "They've just brought in Tony DeVini on the basis that he might have had something to do with Anders' death."

"Brass just sent me the same thing," Catherine added, flipping her phone closed. "He wants us to view the interrogation. They can't hold him for long."

"I'll interrogate him," Nick and Jude said at the same time, then glared at each other. Elliott rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said, whisking out of the room with a toss of her ginger hair. Catherine followed, grinning to herself as she thought to herself, _we've just left a former jock from Texas and a New York cop alone in the same room. There is sure to be a bullfight. _

"This is our case now," Nick said. "Why should you interview DeVini?"

"Oh, like you wouldn't want to if it was the other way around. What happened to objectivity, huh?" The younger CSI scowled at Nick.

"That's alright," Grissom said lightly, walking into the break room. "I've just stopped Catherine and Elliott; they're going to be doing the interrogation." He turned to Jude, who seemed to shrink visibly under the supervisor's polite stare. "You, Mr. Daniels, can watch from the viewing room."

"Um. Right." And with that, Jude was gone as well. Grissom then turned to Nick.

"I think you should go home for the rest of your shift, Nick," he said, his tone very calm.

"Why?"

"Catherine and Elliott are perfectly capable of doing the interrogation on their own," was the reply.

"Grissom, this guy has killed two people, and he's going for a third—"

"But if we've got him in interrogation," Grissom interrupted, "then there's nothing to worry about for now."

Nick, after a moment, grudgedly nodded. No use trying to fight that ironclad logic. A thought entered his head.

"Hey, Gris, did you talk—"

"Yes."

"…okay then." Nick gave a barely imperceptible shrug and walked out, shaking his head.

In the locker room, Nick ran through the case in his head, slipping on his coat. Wishing dearly that he could watch the interrogation, but knowing that Grissom would have his head if he tried, the Texan just sort of accepted it and brushed it aside.

Slamming the locker closed, he made his way to the front door, nodding at Judy as he left.

"Oh, Nick," Judy called as he walked by, "Archie says he wants to talk to you."

Nick turned, an eyebrow raised. "About what?"

"He didn't say. Just to tell you that he's outside." Judy shrugged before returning to her paperwork, but not before adding, "He looked nervous."

Nick nodded, and with a thanks, pushed the doors open to find Archie leaning against the bricks next to the entrance, staring up at the sky. The bruising had gone down some, but still shone in the brightness of the building's lights. He looked over when Nick walked out, and then looked away again.

"Hey," Nick said, approaching him. "You feeling okay? Judy said you needed to tell me something."

"Yeah." There was a short pause as the tech stared at the cement, brow furrowed, but just when Nick was about to ask again, Archie spoke.

"Look, Nick, I lied," he said in a low voice, turning and looking up at the CSI. "I told Grissom too… I didn't fall down the stairs, Ben, Ryan and I were walking home from a casino and we—"

There was an ear-shattering bang and Archie's body snapped forward suddenly, his eyes wide in pain and shock. He crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Meanwhile, Catherine's eyes widened in the interrogation room.

"What do you mean you're not the real Tony DeVini?"

**.:X:.  
****end chapter  
****.:X:.**

**A/N:** Oh dear.

Reviews are lovely. _–bricked-_


	5. Part Five

**A/N: **sdaglkg OH GOD GUYS I'M SORRY. I'm not even going to justify myself. Thank you to Dragonfriend95 who reminded me about this whole horrible fic.

**Disclaimer: **This is where I put something witty to compensate for my lack of the rights to CSI.

**-  
part 5  
-**

The look on Elliott's face was not heartening. Catherine leaned forward in her chair, clasping her hands together, and pinned the suspect with a stare that had him squirming in his seat. He picked at his jeans as Catherine spoke in a low tone.

"Okay, let me get this straight. You are _not _Tony DeVini."

"No."

Elliott made an extremely irritable noise but otherwise did not acknowledge the response. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, glaring at the suspect.

"Then what are you doing here?" Catherine asked quietly.

The man in the chair looked to the left, then the right before answering.

"I'm a decoy. Don't matter what I tell ya now, Tony's probably got done whatever he needs to do." His eyes flashed and his smile was grim. "Trust me, ya don't wanna go after him, misses. You'd be better off just letting it go. How many people's you got in the autopsy room now? Two? Prob'ly three soon."

"Do you know his next target?" Elliott's voice was remarkably calm compared to the fiery look on her face as she straightened up a little in her chair.

The man shrugged.

"Dunno. Prob'ly that third guy what saw us few nights ago when we were goin' about doin' our business."

"Do you know his name?" Catherine prompted. Business. Possibly drug-dealing, or worse.

The man shrugged again, but kept talking. No doubt he figured that whatever happened, he was going to end up in jail in the long run. "Some squinty-eyed Asian kid."

Elliott's posture was rigid as she looked over at Catherine, who had also frozen in her seat. Catherine opened her mouth to say something, to ask about the third victim, when both CSIs' phones rang once, signaling a text. They both pulled them out as Brass walked into the room, his face very grim.

"Elliott, Catherine, there was a… shooting in the parking lot. One of ours." He shook his head. "Fatal."

All three turned to look at the suspect, whose smile was small.

"Told ya."

Catherine got up out of her seat and tried not to slam the chair into the table.

-

Too much. Too much to handle at once. Nick let out a yell of half-bewilderment, half-shock as he lurched himself forward, catching Archie before he hit the ground. He was practically in auto-pilot as he ripped his sidearm from its holster and aimed it in front of him, keeping one arm around his still friend.

_One left._

Oh, goddamnit, was he _really _that _stupid?_

All around him people were screaming and diving for cover, but Nick could've cared less. The autopsy flashed through his head: Near instant death. Regulation stated that Nick needed to identify himself to the assailant, but damned if he was going to follow rules right now.

"Mother of God, _ow._"

He knew the voice, knew the inflection—hell, it was pretty hard to avoid that sort of I-feel-like-I'm-about-to-_die _manner of speaking he's heard from just about every tech in the lab, but before he could even formulate a response Archie hissed against the fabric of his sleeve.

"I'm dead, okay? Go—_ow, _shit, shit—go with it." Nick could feel the tech scrunching his face up, and his breathing was still there, if not ragged and thin, but, despite Archie's weird statement, he was _alive, _which is _more _than enough to 'go with it'.

"Someone go get the nearest officer!" Nick yelled out into the parking lot, and one brave young technician scurried from behind a Buick just as Archie let out another sharp intake of breath.

"Jesus, this hurts."

"For a corpse," Nick whispered, trying not to move his lips, "You're mighty talkative." He gently lowered Archie onto his stomach, flicking his eyes back and forth to look for any possible shooter in the distance.

"Call me a zombie, then." Archie closed his eyes as Nick pressed two fingers against his jugular and, for good measure, mock-punched the ground, pretending that the pulse, erratic but very much there, wasn't beating beneath the pads of his fingers.

The door burst open and one of the officers from inside came barreling out, flanked by Grissom and Brass. Nick eyed Grissom with an eyebrow cocked, but Grissom's only response was to tilt his head in a returning gesture.

"The shooter'll be gone by now," he said casually, just as Catherine and Elliott brought up the rear, both looking shocked at the scene laid out before them. "His MO is a hit and run, according to his accomplice inside." He smiled a little as he turned to Brass, who was massaging both temples with one hand. "Am I right to assume your men caught a suspect with a recently discharged firearm in his possession?"

Brass glanced at him wearily.

"Because you expect they didn't?"

Nick barely heard the exchange as he gripped Archie under the arms and slowly lifted him up. Most of the color had gone from his face, and he was definitely not chattering as much as he was two minutes ago. Nick eyed him carefully.

"Doing okay?"

Archie closed his eyes again. "Uh. Yeah. My chest. That's all."

"We need to get that bullet for processing," Grissom noted as Archie winced again and started tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"Can I take this off now? It's really tight. Ow." He grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut. Nick looked downwards and caught the flash of black underneath Archie's T-shirt.

"You little bastard." Nick reached over to help Archie out, revealing the thick bulletproof vest strapped firmly around his chest. "You scared me half to death, you know that?"

"Sorry about it," was the sarcastic reply. Nick pulled the shirt off all the way as Grissom leaned down to help with the Velcro straps. Nick's face could only be described as relieved until Grissom pulled the vest off and they all finally witnessed the full extent of Archie's injuries.

A large, mottled purple bruise curled around his chest, surrounded by other, smaller contusions, one distinctly boot-shaped. Suddenly the bruise still on his face didn't seem so bad. Even Grissom looked a little taken aback by the damage.

Archie held out his hand for his shirt, his expression unreadable, and after a long, tense moment Nick handed it back, eyes cold.

"We could've helped you at least a little, Arch."

"I'm okay." Archie pulled his shirt back on, movements stiff.

"Yeah, right." Nick couldn't help it—he rolled his eyes and held out his hand. "C'mon, we're getting you to the hospital, and I don't wanna hear any complaints either."

Instead of protesting, which was exactly what Nick had expected (and he planned to hoist the tech firemen's style if he kept it up) Archie twisted his head a little bit to look up at Grissom. After a brief moment of deliberation, the elder man nodded.

"I don't see why not. We have two accomplices of DeVini, and now that we know what's going on…" Grissom trailed off for just a moment before finishing. "Nick, don't leave his side, got it?" He tilted his head in the direction of Nick's Denali, peering at him over his lenses. "Catherine, Elliott and I have a bit of work to do."

Nick mock-saluted and helped Archie to his feet slowly. Archie thanked him quietly and held his ribs, grimacing again. Just as they were about to head off, Grissom said, "Oh, and Arch?" When the tech in question turned to look at him, Grissom smiled just a little.

"I think it's time you gave Nick a break and told him everything you told me."

-  
**end part 5  
****-**

**A/N: **I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I don't update in forever and then shit out this mediocre chapter. But I figure you guys wanted to know what happened, so. Next chapter will clear everything up, and the one after will be the finale.

-apologizes forever and ever-


End file.
